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A Deficit of Trust by Noir deSilhouette

"Right. 21304, step up to the yellow line. Do not cross over the yellow line. Place your things in the safety deposit box and then step back to the green line. Your things will be returned to you when you are released."

The guard went on reciting the requirements in a droning monotone, and Zane listened with barely any more interest than the guard had in repeating it for the thousandth time. He'd known this was coming. He didn't have the money for a storage area for however long he was going to be in here, and he didn't trust anyone to keep it for him, so almost everything had gone already. Hell, most of it had gone long ago. The house had disappeared last year, and he'd been sleeping in the back of the shop. Clothes... who needed 'em? Donated to charity. His shop and all its machinery was seized and sold at auction to pay off a small portion of his debt. What he carried was what he owned - his last set of boxers, his last pair of pants, his last shirt, his last pair of socks and shoes. One small, real paper book, that had belonged to his grandmother, and a physical photograph of her and his grandfather tucked into it. They were going to assign him a new pair of regulation glasses, so his old pair went into his shoe, tucked behind his rolled socks, alongside a small datastore holding all of his engineering library and his own personal research, encrypted as strongly as he could. In the other shoe he tucked the wallet with his idencard and nothing else. He looked down at the pressed cardboard 'security box' for a moment, taking in one deep, slow breath, then letting out a weary and regretful sigh.

So. This was what it all had come down to.

With a heavy heart, he closed the box and pushed it away from him, then stepped back to the green line. "I'm ready," he said, his voice resigned.

They led him through the next door and down the hall. Fully naked and with nothing to carry, he had no idea what to do with his hands. He covered his crotch for a moment, but the motion just made him feel more exposed, so he let his hands drop to his sides. He wasn't much to look at anyway - a snow leopard, about five foot eight. A year ago, he had been a bit pudgy, but the stress and lack of money had led to him losing all of that. Now he was a bit underweight for his height. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes as he sighed. Dammit. Might as well have bought steaks and wine for all the good his scrimping had done him. The guard didn't care, just went about his lazy routine. In a way, the bored indifference of the guard was a comfort. He didn't want to be noticed. He didn't want to be anyone. He just wanted to stop.

The hallway came to an end, and Zane realized the guard was asking him something ... Right, the guard had been talking about the shower.

"Do you have any open wounds, hydrophobia, claustrophobia, or other medical conditions that we should know about first?"

"No," he said simply.

The door slid open with barely a whisper, and Zane stepped inside. It was a very small room with the walls, ceiling, and floor made up entirely of grates, and he could see spouts on the far side of the mesh. "Take hold of the handles." came the bored voice. "Do not let go of the handles during the cleaning process or you will have to start over."

Zane took hold of the handles and pressed his eyes and mouth closed. Immediately, there was a shock of water from every direction that nearly knocked him from his feet. The acrid scent of too-strong disinfectant filled his nose, and he was soaked instantly to the skin. His bedraggled tail stuck straight out, then tucked in close behind him as he writhed under the stinging jets of water, his hands clinging convulsively to the handles. Then it was finally over, and he sagged, finally opening his mouth to let out his held breath in a sigh. There was a moment's quiet, then the jets of air hit him, fluffing his thick fur out with a nearly painful heat designed more for speed than comfort. His eyes squeezed tightly shut again, and his mouth was instantly dry as he got a jet of air right in the face. He tried to turn his head away, but there was air hitting him from everywhere. When that, too, was finally over, he stood there panting and feeling a bit battered. What on earth were they trying to clean off of him?

The far side of the shower slid open ahead of him, and he tried to make his fingers let go of the handles. It took a few seconds for them to listen to him. There were two guards on the far side, now - one of them the one who had led him to the shower. He was showing the first emotion since Zane had seen him - a grin as the two guards touched idencards together for a transfer of funds. A wager? On Zane? Everyone made money off of him except himself.

The walls on this far side were supposed to be sterile white, but they seemed a bit old and dingy. They handed Zane some drab brown pants and top, and he slipped into them quickly. The last advice from his court-appointed lawyer: don't make the guards wait, don't make them repeat themselves. Just do what they say, as fast as you can. He hoped it was better advice than her legal services.

In the next room, he joined the other two that were being admitted to Reegar Debtor's Prison. They both had been a lot grungier than he had been - but they were all freshly clean now. They were led to their bunks - four bunks to a tiny room, four rooms to a quad, who knew how many quads. Hundreds of debtors, waiting to pay their literal debt to society.

"Rest of the bunch are on duty," said the guard, "So you have a couple hours to yourself. Enjoy it. Tomorrow you lazy bums learn how to actually work for a living."

Zane sighed and shook his head. Well, at least, far as he understood, incarcerated debtors actually had weekends off. It'd be nice to have a weekend off for a change. Maybe he'd read a book that wasn't work-focused.

The others left him alone, and he was fine with that. He fell into his bed and just ... stopped. Finally, he could stop. He wasn't sure he'd know what to do with that, but ... it felt really good.

He half-dozed for the next couple hours, and came back to consciousness with the distant murmur of footsteps and voices, as the mass of other inmates returned from their shift. He was alone in the room, and he felt profoundly disappointed - wanting that moment of isolation and peace to go on a lot longer. He had to admit, he'd been expecting the standard vid-depiction of prisons. Lots of force field reinforced transparisteel, guards everywhere, and absolutely no privacy. Here, though, his first impression was that of some shelter or halfway home. Sure, he had to share the room with three others, but as he had just found - he could have a little bit of privacy. And he didn't even have to sleep next to his toilet, which was outside, shared with the other fifteen people in his quad.

Zane smiled faintly. He could get used to this. He was tired of doing everything himself ... this wasn't so bad. A little manual labor, a definite goal. No more trying desperately to pull together schedules and balance budgets. Just do what you're told, and that's all that was expected of you.

The door opened, and a badger stood in there. Zane lifted his head to look at him more closely - the badger was stocky and looked a bit pudgy, but Zane knew how deceptive a badger's build could be. The badger grinned with an unwholesome gleam in his eyes, and called, "Come'ere, boys! Yor, you take the door. You two, with me."

A lean and nervous-looking squirrel and the most mangy and rough-looking fox Zane had ever seen joined the Badger, and Zane started to realize that even if it wasn't a 'real' prison, it was still a prison, and he was suddenly wishing for just a little less privacy...

"Look at you, skinny little thing but all fluffy. Squint a bit, you could almost be a girl," said the badger.

"Really?" asked the squirrel. "Cause he looks like a guy to me."

The badger clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, taking a breath, a faint strangled noise of pure frustration sounding from deep in his throat. He turned to the squirrel. "No," he said tightly, gesturing to Zane. "He looks like a girl."

"Ohhhh, right," agreed the squirrel hurriedly. "A girl, I see it now. With the fluffy chest. And hips. And tail. Yeah, Harry, I see it. Bit of a tomboy, she is, that was my confusion."

Harry turned back to Zane with an exasperated expression. "See what I have to work with here? You want to trade places with Stan here? You'd almost have to be faster on the uptake than he is."

"Hey!" Stan protested.

Zane shook his head. "Don't think I'd enjoy working with you," Zane said. "You strike me as a bit of an asshole."

The badger shrugged. "your choice. I don't think you'll enjoy not working with me, either. I suppose I'll just have to cut short the rest of my planned lines and we'll get on with the sex. Short version: you bend over and let us have our fun, or we beat you up and then do it anyway. Right now, I kinda prefer choice two."

"On that, at least, we can agree," Zane said, then sprang forward with his fist flying.

Harry caught the blow on his cheek and turned his head, taking a step back, then rubbed his cheek as he stood up straight again, smirking. "Well, that does settle it."

Zane hoped such a bulky badger would be slow, but he never even saw the blow coming before it landed on his stomach, knocking the wind from him. He bent over double, gasping, then Stan and the fox grabbed his arms and pulled him upright again.

Harry looked over Zane's hunched form, grinning happily as he rubbed his knuckles. "Punching you hurt more than you punching me. You should try throwing yourself on my fist a few times if you want to-"

Zane didn't wait for the badger to finish. His head snapped back, catching Stan in the muzzle and bringing a shout of pain from the squirrel. He turned to grab the chair, but was a step short when a hand grabbed him by the tail, pulling him from his feet so that he fell flat on the floor, still gasping desperately for breath.

"Fuck's sake, you two, I keep telling you - you have to grab them by the hair so they can't DO that. Oh, pinch it off, Stan, stop whimpering."

Harry dragged him across the floor by his tail, the pain shooting through Zane, who was still struggling just to breath, and his weak attempts to kick free just meant a wrench of his tail and more pain.

He was lifted up by the scruff of his neck and the base of his tail and deposited over the edge of the bed, and a jab into the side for good measure to keep him from struggling. Strong hands grabbed him and held him down, his cheek pressed into the mattress, only one eye able to see the squirrel, and the arm of the badger holding him there. His pants were undone, yanked down around his knees.

"you got the gunk, Stan?"

The squirrel, still pinching off his nose, blood staining his muzzle, rummaged around in his pants and pulled out a small plastic baggie full of some thick yellowish industrial goo, and Zane's feeling of panic rose as the baggie was passed out of his sight. Cool, slick goo was smeared over his asshole, and a single thick finger slid up inside to spread the makeshift lube, and Zane couldn't clench hard enough to keep it out.

"yeah, squeeze, that's right," Harry growled, "It'll be nice to have someone who's actually tight."

Zane could see Stan undoing his own pants, the squirrel's dark red shaft already erect as he got it free. His own breath was coming back, and he found himself letting out little whimpering panicked noises. He wasn't as strong as the badger or any of these guys, but he was squirmy, and he took a deep breath and twisted hard. There was a sharp pain in his head as his hair ripped out in someone's hand, and then he was partly free, one arm wrenched awkwardly behind his back. He kicked out blindly, and he heard Harry's cry of pain with a sense of satisfaction, but then the fox had him shoved down into the bed again, and he could barely breathe through the mattress.

"Turn 'im over," Harry snarled, and Zane was flipped onto his back, the fox pinning down one arm and shoulder, the squirrel getting the other upper arm, still pinching off his nose with the other. The badger was staying safely out of reach of Zane's feet and limping painfully. "Well, congratulations. The mood was already wounded, and you finished it off. No sex today for you. Just a beating."

"But boss," Stan protested, "We could still have a go, we didn't get kicked ... in ... the ..." He trailed off under Harry's withering glare. Harry shook his head and moved towards Zane, and Zane kicked out at him. The badger caught his foot and pulled it wide casually, stepped too close for Zane to get him with the other foot, and punched the heel of his palm into Zane's crotch.

Zane cried out and tried to double forward again, but he was held down to the bed by the two mooks. The low blow was only the warmup, and Harry grabbed a pillow and shoved it over Zane's face, muffling his cries as his other hand let loose with a series of blows at Zane's stomach and side, aiming for the soft spots and ignoring Zane's desperate noises.

The door opened, and a voice from outside came softly but insistently. "Boss! Guards coming!"

Zane groaned as Harry immediately stopped the punishment, trying to curl up on himself but unable to with the goons hanging on.

"All right, let's get out of here. We'll try this again tomorrow, girly."

Zane gritted his teeth and, as soon as the fox and squirrel let him go, lashed out with one hand, his claws raking across the silent fox's face. Bright blood sprouted there, too, and the fox snarled with anger and started for him, hand raised. The badger grabbed the fox's wrist. "Next time. Guards. No marks, remember? MOVE."

Zane finally could curl up on the bed clutching his stomach and allowed himself to sob softly, tears soaking his cheeks. Even worse than the physical pain, though, was the rupture of his brief fantasy of rest. Even here, he couldn't just get by. Even here, he had to fight. Why couldn't he just ... stop? A small voice in the back of his head told him that he could have just let the badger do whatever he wanted... maybe it'd be easier that way, but Zane's shredded remnants of pride had reached their limit.

"Here, this one," said an unfamiliar voice. "Fuckin' idiots. Here, help me grab him."

Zane wasn't entirely sane as he lashed out helplessly at the hands reaching for him. All he knew was that hands he didn't recognize were grabbing at him again.

"OYE! We're here to help you, idiot! Here, grab his wrists, don't want a set to match that jackass out there. Here, get his pants up, I don't wanna carry him."

Zane sagged again, his panic finally easing up as the guards made his way out to the hall. "Sorry," he mumbled, "Sorry, sorry... I just... sorry... sorry... please... I don't want... didn't want..."

"Yeah, yeah. We're just takin' you to the clinic. Gawd, shut up, fuckin' fish. I tell ya, Bill, Harry's gonna go too far one of these days and get Mr. Ashworth in a *really* bad mood. Hey, you see the new vid after the nullball game last night? See what Crystal was wearing? Gawd, what I'd do to her, the way she can move."

Zane followed along best he could, though he just wanted to curl up around his stomach. He kept telling his feet to walk, but there seemed to be some degradation on the command channel, because they kept going off in odd directions. He was glad for the support of even the uncaring grasp of the guard on his upper arm, dragging him down the hall. The clinic was a small little secure room towards the front of the facility, and Zane could even see out the transparisteel window to the front yard that he'd come in through just hours earlier. The fox and the squirrel were already here. The squirrel still just pinching his nose, waiting for the blood to stop, and the doctor was looking over the three neat rows of blood along the fox's cheek. Zane heard a furious, hate-filled hiss filling the room, and realized with a start that it was coming from his own throat. It felt GOOD to see those lines of red along the fox's face. He wanted to add to them.

"Ah, this is the reason?" said the doc, a stout wolf. He was short for a wolf, which meant he was still taller than Stan and the fox, and would probably be around eye level with Zane if he could stand up straight. "Right, put him down on the other side, and stay here. Last thing I need is them to start at it again. Dark stars, would you two idiots tell Harry to cool his jets? Ashworth's in a bad enough mood - you cost him that bribe and he's going to send the lot of you on a wormhole jump to hell - but we've gotta work with him after. Wait two fuckin' weeks, is that so hard? At least you morons had the rare sense not to mark up his face."

Zane managed to keep himself upright for the whole time the doc was finishing up on the other two, glaring at them as they headed out to get escorted back to their quad. As soon as they left, though, his pride hit its limit and he collapsed in on himself, clutching his stomach and letting out a long, relieved exhalation.

"Ha," the doc let out the short noise approvingly. "I see. All right, don't need you upright for a scan." He directed a small device over Zane's side, peering at a screen to the side. "Well, you sure pissed them off, didn't you? Seems the feeling is mutual. Look, you better stay in public places if you don't want this to happen. You get separated from everyone else, you're gonna get picked off. Find a gang. Stick with them. Work together. Gawd, fuckin' idiots."

"Doc... uh ..."

"Holmwood. But Doc is fine. What ya need?"

"B... Bribe? Two weeks?" Zane gritted out. He wanted something to distract him from the pain.

"Heh. Heard that? Once a month, this lady comes by from this company, looks over the newcomers. She pays a ... 'bonus' ... to the warden if they're all in good health and untouched. So that's your grace period. Two weeks, she comes in and looks at you. You walk out of that room, and those four will be waiting to ruin that pretty face of yours, and Ashworth won't give you an oxymask if he had a dozen. You learn how this place works before then, or you're gonna have a rough time of it." While he talked, Doc Holmwood was typing into the computer, and hooking a few bottles into a small automed that had seen better days.

"Spacer?" Zane gritted out, the odd idioms clicking somewhere in his head.

"Yeah. Grew up out there, for the most part, but wanted to be able to stretch out without hitting the walls. Went dirtside, got this job, then figured out I was agoraphobic. Still haven't found a berth to get off this rock. I swear, the gravity does something to your brains, you're all crazy down here. Bunch of blood-sucking crawlers. Well, you've hit the bottom, haven't you? You know that. Still, you'll have to learn how to actually work now, can't slack in here."

Apparently, Zane still had a bit of pride left, because a low growl sounded from him at that slur. The Doc looked over in surprise. "You try that, boy, I'll take you apart and put you back together with superglue. What's given your heading a spin?"

"Not lazy," Zane growled, sitting up to make his point. Pain surged through him.

"Lay down," the wolf said, planting a hand on Zane's chest and pressing him to the bed. "Talk if you want, but fuckin' stay down."

Zane didn't fight it - his brief spurt of energy was already gone, and he sagged back to the medical table. In a softer tone he went on, "Not lazy. Just... screwed over."

"Yeah, yeah," the Doc said with a tone of voice that easily translated to 'heard it before.'

"Had a company," Zane explained, wanting SOMEONE to give him credit. "Thought he was my friend... he'd handle the legal stuff, I'd handle the dirty work. He handled it all right - split it all up nice and even. Gave me the debt, took everything else for himself."

The doc sagged a bit, dropping his face into his hand. But when he straightened up, his voice wasn't sympathetic, just had a more bitter edge to his complaint. "See, that's what I mean. You dirtbrains are crazy. Out there, you don't screw over your crew. You do that, you breath void for a few minutes 'til you stop. You depend on your crew to live - everyone has a part. Down here, you take everything for granted. Water, air, food ... it's so easy for you. So what sort of dirty work did you do?"

"I... made the stuff. I invented this... ah, doesn't matter. I was the tech. He was the lawyer." Zane sighed.

"Tech, huh? Were you actually good? Cause I got a ton of stuff in here needs some TLC. You make yourself valuable around here, you save Ashworth some money, then he'll care what happens to you. But if you're lying to me, you screw up this stuff worse and make him call in a real tech to fix it - then you're headed up the shittube with a left-handed spanner."

Zane blinked. "Would that... work my debt off faster?"

"Hell yeah it would. Way better than the government-wage jobs that's all the rest of these shlubs are good for. How long you in for?"

"Thirty years ... Thirty one, two months, and four days, specifically - best calculation."

"Fuuuuuck. Well, you'll get a good chunk of years taken off of that, I'll tell you what. I'll tell the guards you report to me for your work shift." Doc took a hypo from the automed and held it up to the light, then nodded and carried it over to Zane.

Zane relaxed in relief. "Thanks, Doc."

"Eh. Thank yourself, if you can actually do what you say." He stuck the needle into Zane's arm without any preamble, then pointed him at a small cell with a med bed and a transparisteel wall off to the side of the clinic. "Here, you'll sleep there tonight. Want to keep you in observation. That stuff should get your insides knitting together all right - you'll feel better in the morning. Added some good dreams for you, too, your levels are crap - haven't you gotten any sleep at all in the last few months?"

Zane could already feel the sleep aids kicking in. "No... too busy... can't sleep... gotta... gotta ..."

The room was going black around him. "Shit!" Doc cried, grabbing him before he could fall. As Zane spiraled away into darkness, he heard Doc spitting out the most fascinating invective. He'd have to ask him to repeat that after he woke up ... after he ...

When Zane woke up again, he was laying in the clinic bed, looking out through the transparisteel wall. His throat felt like he'd swallowed sand. He couldn't see very clearly - he never had gotten his regulation glasses - but the main clinic area was lit, and a white blur was moving around. He hoped it was Doc. He sat up and tried to say something but only a rasping noise came out.

"Ah, hello!" Doc's voice was distant and muffled through the glass. "I left some water there for you. Hope you slept well."

Zane looked around sleepily and found the plastic bottle of water on top of the toilet. He could tell by the feel of the bottle under his fingers that it was as cheap as could be, and the water had a faint soapy taste to it, but he drank the whole thing down all the same and could have had more. He cleared his throat, made a few experimental noises, and then rasped, "Good morning?"

Doc had made his way into the small cell by that time, and was running a scanner over Zane's chest. "Gave you a little something to help your sleep be more effective. Most folks would take a shot of that, sleep for four hours, and be fully rested. Not good for long-term, but great for recovery. You've been out for ten hours. Don't get up." Doc left into the main clinic area, then came back with another two bottles of water. Zane opened one and drank through half of it. "Yeah, I'm not surprised. That stuff'll leave you parched. Are you feeling dizzy? Pains in your extremities? Queasy stomach?" Doc's fingers touched tenderly over his throat, under his arm. Zane shook his head to all questions. "Ah, good. You seem all right. Just severely sleep-deprived."

"Not surprised," Zane said softly. "Um. Am I going to be in trouble? I need to report for work ... "

"I need to get you glasses," Doc told him, "And if you work at all, it's going to be here. It's not just sleep - I ran a more complete scan while you were out. Lost a lot of weight lately?" Zane nodded. "Yeah. You haven't been eating well. I have a highly nutritional mush that you'll be eating the next few days. Tastes about as good as it sounds, but it'll get your levels balanced out."

The next two days, Zane spent more time asleep than awake. Doc didn't give him any more of the quick-sleep stuff, but he did give him a few things to help him sleep easier, grumbling the whole while about idiots trying to work themselves to death. While Zane was awake, he took a look at Doc's equipment. Lots of the maintenance that needed doing was fairly basic, and he didn't need any special knowledge of the gear for it. It helped that nothing Doc had in this place was all that advanced. Just the basics. Other bits were more complex, and while he knew he could probably figure it out given enough time and a good manual, he marked it for Doc to call in a specialist.

It was more than just the sleep that relaxed him - it was the time working with Doc. They didn't really talk much with each other, but just silently worked on their separate tasks in an unspoken camaraderie of professionalism. There was a surprising number of patients for Doc - small injuries from fights and scraps, that sort of thing. From the rumors around debtor prisons, Zane had been expecting injuries from poor safety regs on the machinery, but none of those came in, and Doc said that most of the on-the-job injuries he dealt with were from stupidity and fooling around with dangerous gear. Even those trips, though, were few compared to the regular checkups for the debtors - a repetitive task that disappeared into the background noise while Zane worked.

"I could take care of this," Zane was saying at the end of the second day, "But I'm not rated for this specific piece, and it would be down for a week. Same with these other bits and bobs. You want me to start, I'll start, but just wanted you to know what you were looking at there."

Doc nodded. "I'll float it by Ashworth, but you probably won't be working on this. I expected this whole mess to take you longer to work your way through, I'll admit. But tell ya what - I'll float your name past the workshop supes. They'll tether you in to look at their equipment, too, and that'll help." Doc came almost close to a smile as he clasped Zane's shoulder. "You did good."

Zane felt a warmth inside of him, and a tightness in his throat, but at the same time some sort of shame and pain. He clenched his jaw and nodded, having no idea why a simple compliment should make him feel like suddenly breaking down in tears. What was wrong with him?

"Anyway. You're doing better, though you won't be greenlining 'til you've gotten at least a month of good rest. I have to send you back to the quad to sleep, but I want you back in here tomorrow after your work detail for another checkup. Try to stick to public areas 'til lights out - they wouldn't dare do anything after that. By the by - in case you didn't get the intro, the beds have pressure sensors on them. Alarms go off if you get out of bed for more than a minute without the bathroom registering you entering, or if more than one of you get out of bed at the same time. Or if there's two of you in a bed. Or anything suspicious, really. So stay in bed and don't go orbiting trouble."

Zane nodded, relieved that he wasn't going to have too many problems that way. He shook Doc's hand, put his new glasses on, and headed out. The glasses were going to take a bit of getting used to - instead of nice stiff frames and glass lenses, they were some sort of rubbery, flexible stuff that no doubt could take a lot of damage, but were not comfortable at all, and they had a tendency to warp under the slightest pressure and skew his vision. After how many fights he saw coming into the clinic, he could see why they assigned glasses that were a little harder to break. Despite the cheap feeling of the glasses, he felt something of a pride in them anyway - he'd recalibrated the optomat himself, one of the first devices he worked on in the clinic.

The guards led him to the quad and locked him in with no real fanfare - just opening the transparisteel door long enough for him to move inside, then locking it shut again. Once inside, the sixteen debtors of the quad were allowed to do whatever they wanted until lights out. There were six of them standing around in the main area, all staring at him, and Zane didn't recognize any of them. Did those four that attacked him live in the same quad? He didn't even know what the one that stayed outside looked like.

One of the six debtors Zane could see slipped into one of the back rooms. "Stay in public areas," Doc had said. Zane leaned against the wall near the transparisteel barrier and considered his options. And then the debtor returned to the main area, followed by the three that had attacked him. Zane could feel a growl rise up in his throat, the hackles raising on the back of his neck. Now he know what Yor looked like. The badger grinned and waved, and gave a wink.

Well. Zane wasn't going to give them another chance to do anything to him.

They didn't do anything while the guards were watching, just kept grinning knowingly at him, and Zane was careful. Day after day, he leaned against the wall near the barrier where the guards were stationed, and did nothing. He went to his bunk only when lights out was less than a minute away. None of the four shared a room with him. Showers were taken very carefully - the four weren't there all the time, and he was in and out of the shower in barely more than a minute, stepping out still sopping wet, every few days. Never the same number of days, never the same time of day. Boredom set in quickly, though, and he tried to take advantage of some of the break periods at the prison. There was 'job training' opportunities, but the bored, uncaring adviser didn't seem to understand the problem when Zane tried to explain that he could teach the mechanics class better than the instructor they had. The inattentive paper-pusher just made the drawling remarks about laziness that Zane was getting used to. Zane ground his teeth against this, and used the library hour to his best advantage. He was granted the loan of a flimsy - a display made out of the same tough, rubbery stuff as his glasses that he could use to download books and periodicals from the library computer - but only at the computer itself. No net access, no connection to the outside, and cheap as hell, but it was better than nothing. At least he could read through some of the literature on recent advancements while he was lazing against the wall. He tried not to think about how he had such a BETTER way to train everyone here in whatever they wanted to do.

The work shifts were pleasant, actually. No more trying to find buyers or investors, no more trying to talk his way through things. Just simple labor - the machinery was ancient and poorly maintained, and none of it was all that complicated. Doc had carried through and put in a word for him, and Zane didn't have to do the grunt work all the other debtors were doing. He put in a list for the replacement parts he needed, and made what repairs he could while waiting for those parts to arrive. It was a sense of great accomplishment when a machine that had been grinding awkwardly hours earlier could be switched on to a smooth, well-tuned hum. It wouldn't keep - the machines were too decrepit - but it would run nicely for a couple of weeks, at least. And as long as they didn't replace them with something more modern, he could probably keep himself useful to the prison indefinitely. He plugged in a few tentative calculations after asking questions - down to around twenty-two years, conservative estimate.

it was a week and a half after he'd arrived that he came across an ad in one of the engineering newsletters that pulled him out of his new routine. The article was titled "New direct muscle-memory training takes the pain out of overturn."

He barely read through the first several paragraphs of the article around the new technology before he had to put the flimsy down to keep from tearing it to pieces - didn't want to add even that small cost to his debt. The article made it sound like this could cut training times, but that wasn't right! It just made the training more efficient! And to market it as making it easier to keep personnel costs down by making it easier to replace the experienced people?!

"Anders, you backstabbing bastard!" he growled fiercely under his breath, finding himself pacing in front of the transparisteel wall. "All a misunderstanding my bushy ass. This wasn't how it was supposed to be used!" He paced up and down, the fur on the back of his neck standing up, his tail bushed out with anger. All the weariness and contentment at the simple tasks he'd been asked to do here had burned completely out of him with this burning rage seething through him.

He was turning people even more into cogs in the machine! Copy/paste employees. Making people replaceable. People weren't replaceable! He hadn't seen this ... Damn! Damn damn damn! What had he done? What had Anders done? This ad had to have been taken out weeks ago!

"HEY! 21304!" A guard was suddenly in his face and yelling at him, and he shook his head, pulling himself out of the pacing rage.

"What? Yes! Sorry! I... yes? I'm sorry! What can I do?" he babbled out, trying not to let his rage vent itself on the guard. The guard had his hand on his stun stick, and Zane had no desire to feel the business end of that. He'd seen other debtors taken down, and it looked painful as hell.

"I said, follow me! Doc wants to see ya. Some sorta follow up."

Zane nodded and followed, then stopped. "One second! Sorry!" he cried, turning back to quickly grab the flimsy, then hurried to follow the guard. "Sorry. Can't lose this. It'll get added to my debt."

Guard snorted contemptuously, but let it pass, gesturing him ahead. Zane preceded him, his mind still churning over the article in the newsletter. Damn it. Damn. Damn. And he was stuck in here, useless. Useless, useless, useless. All that effort for nothing. Less than nothing. What was the point?

"Not that way! Left!" the guard snarled at him, and Zane stopped in confusion in the middle of the hall. "Left? But ... " The guard advanced with the stun stick, and Zane turned to follow the directions. His brain was suddenly broken away from his own inner misery. Damn, he should have seen it coming. Only one guard coming to collect him? They NEVER worked in less than two. One in front, one behind. That was how it worked.

His mind raced uselessly. He couldn't disobey the guard. He couldn't turn back. He couldn't do anything but what he was told. Just march forward obediently to ... what, exactly? He knew exactly who would be there. Damn it. He got distracted, he hadn't been thinking. He worried the flimsy in his hands. If only it had some sort of interior net connection, he could get a message to Doc. It had to have some sort of locater so it couldn't be stolen. Could he damage it? Throw up red lights? Get more guards to come? He worried at it with his claws, but the tough material barely even scratched.

A pair of guards came up the hall from the opposite direction. Zane raised his voice. "So Doc is down this way somewhere?" he asked his guard. Then looked at the oncoming guards. Help Me, he mouthed desperately.

"Yeah, sure," the guard said. "Shut it."

The two oncoming guards, if they noticed anything, didn't react. Or worse ... was that a knowing smirk? Damn the system. Didn't matter if you did everything right - someone else could screw you over, and nothing you could do about it.

And he and the guard were alone again. "You know," he tried bluffing, "Warden Ashworth ... if Harry costs him that bribe, he's gonna be pissed." And what was this bribe about? He should have asked Doc for more details! Damn. "And when he starts looking for someone to blame-"

Pain. Pain coursed through him, dropped him writhing to the floor. He couldn't even control his limbs, he couldn't even curl up, he couldn't scream, he just flopped around with his muscles twitching. Then, finally, it ended, and he went limp. Dear God, the others he'd seen had only gotten hit for a moment. Did the asshole hold it against him? His eyes started to clear, and he could see the guard standing over him. No, holding it to him would have taken too much effort. That *was* a brief tap.

"I said," the guard said dangerously, "Shut it."

Zane did his best to nod, and tried to get back to his feet. The guard grabbed him by the back of his neck and twisted, pulling him upright. His legs didn't seem to want to quite work, his knees shook weakly, and the twist at his scruff was horribly painful, but he stumbled forward anyway. His legs were working again a few doorways along, and the guard let him go with a shove that almost sent him back to the floor, but he caught himself against the wall and kept upright. He was ashamed to find his cheeks soaked with tears, and a babbling panic inside him to do anything to keep from feeling that again. Oh hell ... was the guard going to help Harry? Stand over him with the stun stick and make him submit to the asshole? Would he submit, to keep from feeling that pain again? He knew the numbers on the stun sticks. It couldn't cause permanent damage, there were safeguards to keep from nerve burnout like the early models ... or ... was this an early model? He tried to sneak a glance at it. Everything else here was ancient.

In the end, that wasn't the case. The guard just dropped him off in a room with Harry and his three goons and noone else. Zane almost sagged with relief as the guard walked out after exchanging a few friendly words with the badger.

Dammit, Harry was a debtor. What the hell was he bribing the guard with?

"See, girly?" Harry was saying. "Now you have nothing to help you. We're all alone here, all the time in the world. You going to give it up nicely, or are we going to rough you up first? No playing nice like last time."

Zane sagged wearily, squeezing the flimsy between his hands. Dammit. He straightened up and shook his head. "We're going to have to go the rough way. And I won't stop fighting, no matter what. You rough me up too much, and you get the Warden pissed off at you - that's your own affair. I'm sure you have all sorts of contacts set up here, all sorts of connections, you're the big man ... but there's only so much you can do to me without hurting me enough to lose him that bribe. That's why you're trying to intimidate me into submitting - because the only way you're getting what you want is if I give up."

Harry scowled darker, and moved up towards Zane. Again, the badger moved faster than expected, as his fists struck into Zane's stomach, into his sides. He almost fell to the floor, but those goons picked him up and held him as Harry worked him over.

"All right, smartass," Harry snarled into Zane's ear. "You're right. But the lady comes in a few days, and after that, your ass is mine, in every sense of the word. No one mouths off to me like that. Ain't no one gonna want to look at your face after that. You have a few days of leeway... after that, you're fuckin' over. One last chance to let me have it my way."

Zane whimpered and gasped desperately, trying to say something, anything, but once again the wind had gotten knocked out of him. He let his middle finger give a most eloquent answer, instead. That earned him yet more body blows. He was almost wishing for the guard and his stun stick back again, when it slowly occurred to him that the blows had stopped. He was curled up on the floor, and the four goons were walking out with taunting laughter.

Zane lay there groaning as the four turned out the lights as they went, leaving him in the dark. And after this 'lady' showed up and left, it was going to be open season? Was this going to be every day? Slowly, carefully, he got himself up to his feet by clinging to the edge of the table.

"Not in the face," Doc had said. Zane wasn't a match for Harry - the badger was just too powerful and too fast for him, and Zane wasn't any sort of a fighter. He reared back and smashed his forehead into the edge of the table, then fell back clutching his forehead, his stomach roiling queasily. He felt hot, wet stickiness falling over his eyes.

He couldn't do that again. Concussions were too dangerous, and this blood was worrying him. He pulled his shirt off, balled up the thin fabric, and stuffed it between his teeth. Then he limped to the door and peeked out into the hall. No one was out there. Not yet. The guard would be by to collect him shortly. He stuck his forearm in the door, bit down on the rolled cloth, pulled the door open wider, and slammed it, letting out an anguished scream into the rolled up cloth.

The medical room, as he'd noticed before, had a nice view of the front yard of Reegar's. So as Doc sat there putting a splint on his broken forearm, Zane had a perfect view of the four bullies getting loaded onto the transport for the minimum security prison. No matter how bad things got, the memory of Harry's confused and angry swearing as he found out he was getting blamed for Zane's injuries, the horrified expression on his face as he found out he'd exceeded his leeway, was going to warm Zane's bitter and vindictive soul for quite a while.

"Something for my records, while I do this," Doc was saying. "How was it you said they broke your arm?"

Zane was still feeling queasy from the pain, but he didn't feel the pain itself. These were some really, really nice painkillers. His arm just kind of ended at the shoulder, from what he could feel, and it was some stranger's arm that was getting bound up. And the other pains were distant, quiet aches. "I was just ... I couldn't stop them," he said, distantly. "They kept kicking and hitting me ... and something just ... broke. I dunno."

Doc let out a soft noise. "Mmm-hmm. Just surprising to have radial and ulnar shaft comminuted fractures, not the typical nightstick fracture. I mean, surprising they were allowed bats, and you're in surprisingly good condition otherwise, if that's what they were using."

There was brief quiet as Doc set the inflatable sheath round Zane's arm, then started pumping in the set-quick formula. It swelled and set to the form of the splint, affixing his arm in place against his chest.

"The door," Zane said finally. "They dragged me to the door and slammed my arm in it. Three times."

Doc nodded. "That's better," he said. "That's what I thought you'd told me earlier." He smirked and nodded approvingly as he injected the catalyst into the set-quick. The inflated cast grew cold where it was pressed against Zane's chest, though the arm it was wrapped around was still numb, the chemical reaction stiffening the thick liquid into a solid mass.

"Hey, Doc?" Zane asked, trying to distract himself from what Doc was doing. "How the hell did Harry bribe the guard to take me there? He can't have any more money than I do."

"Well, you do get to keep some of your money, Zane. Just not much of it. But no, no bribe - he's the guards' muscle. If the guards beat up a debtor, folks take notice. If two prisoners get in a fight, well - that's just normal, right? In return, if he doesn't like someone, the guards just fly casual for a few minutes."

After adding a sling to support the sturdy cast, Doc locked Zane into the small medical cell and went on about his business. Zane relaxed into the bed, letting his eyes sink shut, feeling weary, but strangely comfortable, even with the pain that made it through the painkillers. The medical cell felt safe. Like he was returning someplace familiar and pleasant. He had a vague sense that this was odd ... and somewhere in there, everything drifted away, and the darker comfort of sleep settled over him.

He was woken by Doc's voice calling his name. Doc sounded ... frustrated. "Comon, up, Zane. Get up! Wake up! Argh. Too late for an antagonist to the sleep aids... "

The returning pain in his arm was enough to draw him out of his drowsiness. "Ow... what's wrong, Doc? I'm up, I'm getting up." He carefully wrangled his way out of bed, his balance thrown off by the one useless arm.

"Nothing's wrong. Except she's here, early. And this late." Doc let out a frustrated noise, and then in an undertone Zane wasn't sure he was supposed to hear. "Damn her, couldn't have shown up half a day earlier."

Zane started struggling to try to get his shirt on over the cast, and Doc snapped, "Don't worry about your shirt! You won't need it anyway. Come on, let's go." Doc didn't even bother calling for guards, he just let Zane out of the clinic and started leading him through the halls. "OK, this is her. She's a few days early. The lady they've all been waiting for." Zane stared unabashedly at Doc's back, bewildered by this change of attitude. "Speak clearly, be honest, and keep your shoulders straight. This is a good chance to get out of this dump. And no matter what it looks like, she's looking for more than just some good-looking body."

Zane couldn't figure out why Doc was so worried, but he followed along quietly, getting the hang of walking smoothly so as not to jostle his broken arm. He was still too tired and in too much pain to focus on it, so he just nodded and made small noises to indicate he was listening. He didn't really react fully until Doc suddenly pulled down his pants and boxers. "HEY! What the hell?"

"Gotta go in naked, Zane. Just deal with it. And you can turn her down without penalty, but if she offers anything, seriously consider it, OK? I dunno if it's something you can do, but at least it's a way out of this dump." Then Doc took his glasses and left everything blurry.

Zane sighed, and Doc lead him into the next room. There were a dozen guys lined up kneeling on the floor, their arms behind them, and all naked. At the end of the row, Doc made a gesture to one of the guards, and a pole slid up quietly out of the floor, lifting up about three feet. "Comon," Doc said, "Kneel down." Zane did as he was told, feeling decidedly surreal. Was this normal? Was this really happening? Maybe he was still in the clinic, asleep, and this was all just a weird dream.

One of the guards came forward and tried to force Zane's arm behind his back. Zane let out a cry of pain, and Doc shoved the guard hard enough the guard was nearly knocked off his feet.

"HEY!" cried the guard, going for his stun stick.

Doc snarled fiercely, and the guard paused. "You leave that arm alone, you fucking idiot! It's broken!"

"But they're supposed to-"

"He's not doing anything with that arm, it's already immobilized. Get out of here, I'll handle this, moron."

Zane felt Doc clasping restraints around his ankles, locking them together and to the pole. And then his good arm was pulled behind his back, also hooked up to the pole, leaving him kneeling there with barely any leeway for movement. Then there was a cold touch to his shoulder, a brief prickle, and his broken arm suddenly stopped existing again. Zane could have cried with relief. "Thanks, Doc."

"Yeah, yeah. Just straighten up."

Zane did so, and watched as Doc's blurry form walked away to the far corner of the room. Then he was just waiting, his thighs slowly starting to ache in the unfamiliar position. The other guys kneeling beside him all started grumbling about the indignity, and making rude remarks. Zane just focused on staying upright. The door opened, and in came two figures. The first, short and squat in a suit, must be Warden Ashworth. He'd seen a debtor mouth off to the little man, and the warden hadn't needed the guards to deal with it - he was a tough little bastard who'd sent that debtor to the med bay.

The second figure ... without his glasses, the one following the warden into the room was just something of a blur, but that blur moved with a fluidity that he hadn't seen in ages. A whiff of scent hit his nose, and he realized that at some level, he had forgotten that people came in nicer shapes than the men he'd been living with. It felt like ages since he'd even seen a woman - he hadn't had anything more than halfhearted morning wood for weeks, since even before the trial, but that scent, the movement, filled in all the blanks of his faulty vision, A fierce desire rushed through him - and in his naked state, that desire manifested itself very obviously. He was hardly the only one - the other guys on the line started making raunchy comments, but Zane just cringed, blushed, and tried to think of something innocent. It didn't work at all. He tried to keep his shoulders as straight as he could, his face burning hot under the fur, knowing how exposed he was. He grimaced inwardly at the vulgar comments from the other debtors, his own large, bushy tail moving over his lap self-consciously to try to keep his modesty.

The woman spoke for a while with Warden Ashworth, he couldn't hear what was said beyond a faint murmur, but he watched her avidly. Her colors were dark, shifting, with a thick tail, that much he could see. Grays and earth tones. Her scent was vibrant, and definitely ... coon, yes. But along with those earth tones was a bright splotch of red - the brightest color Zane had seen in the past week and a half, surrounded as he was by guards wearing blacks and dark blues, and debtors wearing drab browns. Then she moved away from the Warden, and that grace was obvious in every step. She paused before each debtor in turn, inspecting them slowly up and down, seeming oblivious to their raucous catcalls as she moved slowly down the line.

Beyond the striking bright red, he found himself straining to catch sight of any detail of her, craning his neck, swallowing a suddenly dry mouth. He slumped for a moment, his head drooping as his dead arm weighed on his shoulder, losing that posture. Then he straightened up. He wasn't going to sit there getting a crick trying to see her - he'd just stare ahead and wait for her. But that scent ... he'd never been quite so conscious of anyone's scent since he was in high school and the girls were just starting their heat cycles.

The resolve to look straight forward didn't last long - he kept tilting his head to catch glances of her - as the woman moved closer, she grew slowly more distinct, close enough that he didn't need his glasses. She was indeed a raccoon, wearing a long black dress with a bright red wrap around her shoulders. Her long brown hair was curled up in a loose bun atop her head, a large black lacquered clip holding it in place with several strands artistically escaping it. She was three away ... two away ... she had reached the debtor next to him. Then she stepped before Zane himself, looking down at him in consideration. He couldn't be sure it wasn't his imagination, but she seemed to linger longer over him than the others. He couldn't help but look over her, his ears heating as he realized how completely he was exposed to this lady. Doc's words filtered through his head, and he did his best to keep his posture straight, but finally he dropped his gaze, unable to look her in the eyes.

She curled her knees and sat on her heels in a graceful manner, not squatting, not kneeling, but just ... lowering herself so she could reach his tail. With two fingers she delicately took hold of the end of his tail to lift it out of the way. Wordlessly, she looked into his lap for several long moments, then looked up into Zane's eyes with a sardonic twist to her lips and a raise of one eyebrow. He found his face flaming with embarrassment, his tail flicking to try to cover himself and his arousal once more as she gazed at it, and the comments from the other prisoners as he was so thoroughly examined didn't make things any better. His head lowered as her gaze met his, eyes hidden by the shaggy, too-long hair falling over them.

Her fingers finally let go of his tail, and instead came up to take hold of his chin. Zane's tail immediately moved to cover his lap again, as she lifted his face - not to look him in the eyes, but instead to tilt his head first one way, then the other, examining him more as a curiosity in a bargain shop than regarding him as a person. Just an object. Then, only then, did she actually peer into his eyes. "You are in pain," she said, no question this.

He lost that sense - the gesture was far more personal than it should have been. He peered away, unable to meet that strange, intimate gaze when in such a helpless position. He wanted to deny her words, wanted to be stronger, prove how he was able to survive here ... but ... Doc said to be honest with her. He was surprised by the pain in his voice as he softly replied "Yes, Miss."

She shook her head. "Not your injuries. Those don't hurt much." She judged him a bit longer, then her slender fingers touched at his chest, hovered past his battered stomach towards his erect shaft. They slid through the air mere millimeters from his shaft ... he could nearly feel the heat of her, and yet ... no contact whatsoever ...

He shivered at her touch - her fingers were the first contact that wasn't the forcefulness of the guards or debtors, or the clinical caring from Doc. He was trapped, helpless to resist or respond, and could do nothing but watch her movements, breath escaping him shakily as she hand hovered so close to his shaft, almost teasing, but all too aware of how they were on display to the other prisoners and warden.

Thinking of them, his face flamed anew, and he glanced over at them. The other debtors were all are yelling encouragement, though they seemed far away, unable to intrude on this private moment with the lady, and even the warden who had been standing barely a foot away from her seemed distant, though Zane took great pleasure in his pole-axed expression. The feeling of distance, he realized, was due to the lady's complete indifference to them all - it was as if he was the only thing in the whole room for her. She leaned forward, and if her black dress had possessed a short neckline, it would have been revealing all... but the high dress was only snug enough to show the shape of her curves, no more. Yet those hidden curves entranced him. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Will you take my contract? I wish for you to make me happy ... I want you to have sex. I want you to do this for me." Her warm breath washed over his ear. "Will you be my slave, and do whatever I ask of you?"

Surely he couldn't do this. Well, the mechanics of it were fine. He'd been to bed a few times with this one girl way back in college, but that hardly qualified him for this position. Sure, he'd get out of this prison, but how long until she sent him back, when she discovered he couldn't provide what she wanted? He was sure she wasn't spending all this bribe money just to find a nigh-virgin to sleep with. And to be called a slave? Though ... he couldn't help but feel he already was that. The whole damn system made him feel like a slave, punished for trying to do things his own way instead of following along after everyone else. He took in a breath, fought his way through all the thoughts clustering in his head, and then looked up at the beautiful woman. He found his voice. "Yes, Miss. I will."

The raccoon lady smiled a mysterious, impish little smile. Her fingers touched at the base of his shaft, and Zane gasped and arched in surprise. Right in front of everyone! That breath he had sucked in escaped in a shuddering groan as her fingers delicately traced one slow, ever-so-tender caress up to the tip of that hard flesh. Then she stood up to leave him be, and he couldn't help but let out a faint, disappointed whimper, despite the stares of everyone in the room. "Very good. I shall have the documents written up." She looked to the Warden, and her face grew hard. "Mister Ashworth. It seems I will not have the money to pay you this month, or for the next few months. I need it to pay for the medical care for my new slave. Do you have a problem with this?"

The Warden's face contorted with fury, quickly smoothed over to just a smoldering anger. "No, Miss," he said carefully. "That seems very fair." His eyes glared around at the guards, though none of them had been the ones that had taken Zane to be beat up.

The lady just nodded, then looked down to Zane one more time. Then, dismissing him from her attention entirely, she gestured to the nearest guard. "Take care of his things, and bring him out front." The guard started to look toward the Warden, but she followed it up with a demanding, "now," and the voice of command in her tone had the guard bending down behind Zane to start unfastening his bindings without any further hesitation or confirmation.

Zane watched the woman - no, The Lady, for he saw why that word kept popping up. He watched as The Lady to whom he'd sold his contract order the guards, order the warden, order anyone she liked. Who was she? He knelt there, barely feeling it as his bindings were freed, not daring to move until given the order to by the guards. He kept feeling like there was some misunderstanding, and he'd get sent back to the quad any moment now.

But instead, the grumbling guard dragged Zane to his feet and led him naked out of the room and through the halls to the front area where, only a week and a half ago, he had dropped off the few remaining worldly possessions he had left. His safe box returned to him, he once again had his own clothes, his own glasses, all untouched and as he had left them. He barely trusted this was happening, and looked over his few remaining material possessions, making sure they were all there. First, he put on his pants and shoes, and grudgingly asked the guard's help with the laces, since he couldn't figure out how to tie them one-handed. The book was still in there, with the photo of his grandparents. He sagged a little, looking at the picture. He'd already felt ashamed that their grandson had been reduced to a debtor's prison ... would they feel he had just moved further down in the world? What would his parents think? He couldn't even think about how to break this kind of news to them, yet.

The box awkwardly tucked under one arm, he was escorted out the front of Reegar's Debtor's Prison to where an elegant hover limo waited in the street, very out of place in this rough neighborhood. His eyes widened in surprise, his ears tilted back. What kind of person was this? The door slid upwards, revealing the lush interior - soft music suddenly emerging from the previous silence. Inside sat a young woman in a business suit that once was very nice, but now looked a bit threadbare and worn. Her eyes were wide, a little scared, and a lot overwhelmed. Something Zane imagined mirrored the look in his own eyes.

He nervously stepped into the limo, ears dipping as he nodded politely. He couldn't find words - his throat was tight with all the confused feelings rushing through him. Finally getting away from the prison, but what was he getting himself into now? Had this lady been given the same offer he had? The same words? He sat there awkwardly across from her before croaking out an awkward, "Hi."

The lithe feline gal nodded back to him, not seeming able to be able to get even that much out. She just clutched a small little cloth backpack to her chest and sat there nervously. Similar, again, to how he clutched at the box. The silence stretched on and on, and Zane's body suddenly got hit with a rush of exhaustion as it remembered he'd been woken up out of a chemically induced sleep for all of this. He fought to stay upright and awake, at least until The Lady emerged. His head snapped up - had he lost a few minutes there? Half an hour? How long had he been waiting?

Finally, the raccoon emerged from the prison. Zane's eye was drawn by the movement, and for the first time he could fully appreciate her rolling, elegant gait, able to watch it all the way from the front entry to the limo. He was too exhausted for the same bout of intense arousal he had experienced earlier, but his member made a stubborn little twitch anyway. He watched hungrily as she ducked her head to step inside, giving her as much room as he could while she sat down between Zane and the feline. The door closed silently behind her, and the limo started to move - Zane automatically tried to brace himself as it lifted off from the curbside, but was surprised to find that the momentum dampeners were so good he didn't even feel the slightest lurch.

He nervously worried over his box, awkwardly clutched on his lap, not sure even what to say in this situation. Thankfully, The Lady didn't seem to expect any words, merely settling in with utmost patience for the trip in the elegant limo to end. Zane turned his attention out the window, just in time to see the prison disappear around the corner. He didn't have to try to survive that anymore ... that last release of stress finally brought the blackness of sleep once again, and his final thought before drifting off was that he had never had a chance to thank Doc for helping him to get here.